


In Its First Wild Promise

by RedheadAmongWolves



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Absolute fluff, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Fluff, George Washington is a Dad, M/M, Meet-Cute, Modern AU, the stranger-stole-my-taxi trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:33:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27009667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedheadAmongWolves/pseuds/RedheadAmongWolves
Summary: Thomas is about to lean forward to give his destination through the plexiglass divider— assaulting a driver is punishable by up to twenty-five years in prison, the little sign reminds him, because New Yorkers are barbarians— when, at that exact moment, for the cherry on top of it all, the door opens again and someone else hurries into the backseat.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/Thomas Jefferson
Comments: 24
Kudos: 141





	In Its First Wild Promise

**Author's Note:**

> set in that ever popular hamilton-but-modern-verse so everything is (mostly) musical canon, like the war just ended & the capital is still in NYC, even though it’s present day. main changes are ham & eliza never married, just stayed bffs 5ever and there’s no infidelity lmao. and jamilton, of course. let these idiots be happy.

Thomas’ plane from Virginia to New York is late, because of course it is. Just one more tick to the list of Why The Fuck Did He Agree To This. 

He’s already jet lagged and irritated from his flight from Paris back to the States, a flight that he swears every baby born in the last month was on board, with the amount of crying that weaseled its way under Thomas’ noise-cancelling headphones. There aren’t any squalling infants on this flight, mercifully, but the turbulence had been white-knuckling, and by the time they’re taxi-ing to their gate Thomas is massaging his temples to stave off his growing headache and wishing for a third mini-whiskey. 

Honestly, this is all just one more reason for him to persuade Washington into moving the capitol closer to Monticello; Thomas could get some actual sleep, and he wouldn’t have to live in the hell pit that is New York City. 

Well, maybe that’s a little unfair, but city life has never been his cup of tea, having been raised in the idyllic sprawling Virginian countryside. Even Paris had not been enough to persuade him, lovely as France was. And New York City is certainly no Paris. The last time he’d visited here had been chaotic enough to have him doubting his patriotism. He’d almost gotten mugged, for christ’s sake. 

Its latest first impression isn’t as terrible as he remembers, though. At least LaGuardia has finally finished their new terminal. (That had been his one comfort after finding all the JFK flights were booked on such short notice. And no one sane would touch Newark with a ten foot pole. Honestly, _New Jersey?_ ) There’s a Shake Shack and even a mini FAO Schwartz as he exits his gate, and he’s starting to maybe think this might not be so bad, until he gets to baggage claim and the overhead radio starts blasting Welcome to New York by Taylor Swift.

He takes it all back. This is going to be _horrible._

For the whipped cream on this shit sundae, his luggage emerges on the carousel with a giant dent in the side. For the sprinkles, the clouds they’d hurtled through on the way here have now opened up and it’s _pouring_ outside. After five minutes under the loading zone awning that have turned his curls into a proper lion’s mane, Thomas finally manages to hail a taxi; the driver takes his bag to load in back for him, at least, and Thomas climbs inside. He slides further along the bench; the best view of Manhattan as they cross over from Queens is on the left side of the taxi, he remembers, even with the rain. It makes the lights all watery like a Van Gogh. Maybe he can schedule a visit to MOMA, while he’s here. 

He texts James as he settles in on the cracked pleather: _just got a cab. heading to hotel. meet at fed hall or restaurant?_

James isn’t the kind of man to leave you on read, so when there’s no immediate response, Thomas figures he’s in a meeting. That’s why Thomas is here, after all, right? Their fledgling government is in a state of utter madness, if James is to be believed. Washington’s letter hadn’t been overly urgent, but there had been an undercurrent of _please don’t dally._ Tonight Thomas has a dinner with the new president, as well as the Treasury Secretary. 

Which reminds him, he really should use this drive to think of something to say for his introductory remarks. He’d tried on the plane, but had been distracted by the choppy air, and then the whiskey. He deeply dislikes public speaking, but it seems there really is no end to what he’ll do for Washington. A feeling the man inspires in many of his followers, so Thomas has heard.

The taxi driver ducks back inside, and Thomas is about to lean forward to give his destination through the plexiglass divider— _assaulting a driver is punishable by up to twenty-five years in prison_ , the little sign reminds him, because New Yorkers are barbarians— when, at that exact moment, for the cherry on top of it all, the door opens again and someone else hurries into the backseat. 

Thomas startles. He and the other man stare at each other, for a drawn-out moment, but when the man doesn’t immediately apologize and bow out, Thomas’ eyebrows start their ascent up his forehead. _New Yorkers— what the actual fuck._

“Excuse me—” Thomas begins, but then the man is talking.

“Okay yes hi I _know_ this is a douchebag move but _please,_ I’ll literally pay for your ride, there’s no way in hell I’m getting another taxi in this weather and I’m already late for a meeting with my boss and I really _really_ don’t want to go out there again.” The man talks a mile a minute, and while he’s speaking, Thomas can only stare. The stranger is drenched, he notes, his long black hair plastered to his skull, but he’s— well, he’s remarkably attractive, even half-drowned. He has big brown eyes that shine in contrast to the dark circles of sleep-deprivation underneath, and a plush pink mouth that Thomas has to almost physically rip his gaze from. 

But, gorgeous or not, this is Thomas’ taxi, and he still has his _don’t trust New Yorkers_ self-preservation instinct in high gear. This guy could just be a very handsome psychopath making designs on Thomas’ laptop bag. Thomas is about to open his mouth to kick him out, downpour or no, when the driver interrupts.

“Where to, misters?” the driver asks, sounding bored. This is probably the least weird thing he’s seen all day, even as it’s throwing Thomas for a loop. The stranger blinks at the driver and then back to Thomas, those big eyes pleading like a puppy, and Thomas— _fuck it_ — sighs. He better earn some big ass karma points for this.

“Fine,” he says, and the man absolutely transforms, his face splitting into a grin that’s as blinding as the sun, and Thomas’ heart does a little tap-dance in his chest. 

“ _Fuck,_ thank you so much, you’re an absolute life saver,” the man says, and then turns to the driver. “Federal Hall, please,” he requests, and Thomas is surprised yet again. Is this man a member of the government Thomas is about to join? Are they to be coworkers?

Or— Thomas’ eyes narrow— does he know who Thomas is, and this is an elaborate ruse to kidnap a member of Washington’s staff?

The driver’s eyes flick to Thomas’ in the rearview mirror, and Thomas clears his throat, shoving his conspiracy theories aside. At least the man’s destination isn’t out of Thomas’ way. “The Plaza, first, please,” he says, and the driver nods and starts to pull out into traffic. Thomas turns his attention back to his unexpected guest, who is now inspecting Thomas just as intently. 

The man sticks out his hand. “Alex,” he introduces himself. Then he glances at his rain-soaked hand and wipes it on his pant leg, before offering it again with a sheepish smile. 

Thomas shakes it; the man’s— Alex’s— palm is damp and calloused against his, and his fingers are stained black with what must be ink. “Thomas,” he provides. 

“Thomas. Thanks again,” Alex says, settling back and buckling his seatbelt. Thomas mirrors him— a seatbelt is probably smart, with how New York taxis drive like they’re trying to win a live-action MarioKart game. 

Thomas nods in acknowledgment, then glances down the other man’s form. “No luggage?” he asks, and Alex laughs.

“Nah, I was just dropping off a friend for her flight. We took an Uber in, but then my phone died,” Alex explains. For demonstration, he pulls his phone out of his jacket pocket, and its screen remains pitifully black when Alex pokes it a few times. “So, taxi.” 

“ _My_ taxi,” Thomas chides. “I didn’t think people still dropped their friends off at airports in today’s world,” he says, then blinks, surprised with himself. He’s being rather familiar with Alex, isn’t he, for having just met? Normally Thomas can’t stand strangers; he keeps his circle iron-tight, and it usually takes great persuading from Lafayette or James for him to leave his house to attend any sort of social function. 

Alex doesn’t seem to notice his inner bafflement. Instead, he’s using the pale reflection of the plexiglass to shove his hair back away from his forehead, splattering droplets across the pleather behind him. “You would go, too, if you knew Eliza. She could ask me to jump off the Brooklyn Bridge and I’d do a swan dive on the way down.” 

Ah. Thomas shifts. “Just friends, then, or…?” he trails off, letting the implication speak for itself and pretending not to know why he’s feeling suddenly disappointed.

“Nah, Eliza’s just a friend,” Alex tells him, “But one of the best. We went on one date when we first met, but we decided we weren’t a good match, romantically. Plus I had a thing with her older sister, once, and that would’ve just been awkward.” But then Alex fucking _winks_ at him. “‘Sides, if she _was_ my girlfriend, she’d have a bit of competition with how handsome random guys in taxi cabs are these days.” 

The words take a second to sink in, but once they do, Thomas’ face flames, and his jaw all but drops. When Thomas doesn’t immediately respond, Alex’s smile slides off his face faster than butter on a frying pan, as if just now realizing what he said, and he looks panicked. “ _Shit,_ I’m sorry,” Alex scrambles, “that was totally too forward of me, oh my god, can we just pretend I didn’t say that? ‘Liza says flirting is my default drive, I swear I’m not, like, coming onto you. Not like I wouldn’t _want_ to come onto you, you’re, like, absurdly hot, but _oh my god Alex please stop talking._ ” 

Alex looks ten seconds from slamming his head into the window, but at least Thomas’ irrational jealousy of a woman he doesn’t even know has evaporated, so he grants Alex some mercy and a small smile, despite his skipping pulse. 

“It’s okay,” he says. “I’m flattered, however I’ve never commandeered someone’s taxi before, so I can’t say much to the attractiveness of their occupants.” _Though the commandeers are turning out rather stunning,_ he doesn’t say. 

Alex still looks mortified, but the smile he shoots Thomas is all grateful relief. “Yeah, well, I’d like to say this is the first time I’ve done this, but it really isn’t.”

“You make a habit of running late often?” Thomas redirects.

“More than I like to admit,” Alex huffs. “But my boss has put up with me this long, he’s used to it. I don’t think today is gonna be the day I send him over the edge.” 

Again, Thomas wonders who his boss is, whether or not he knows Washington. There are a lot of moving parts in this Congress, to his understanding, so he’s not sure how often shoulders might brush in the halls of the Federal buildings. 

Which reminds him he was supposed to be working on his remarks right now, but Thomas decides it can wait until he gets to the hotel to freshen up before heading downtown. His best thoughts come to him in the shower, after all— and, he doesn’t really want to stop talking to Alex.

They’ve reached the Triborough Bridge, and in unspoken synchronicity they both turn to look out Thomas’ window at the East River and the Manhattan skyline beyond it. Thomas was supposed to get here this morning, but with his flight delay it’s already early evening, and the lights are coming on in the city’s skyscrapers, turning them into a forest of giant Christmas trees, hazy and sparkling through the rainfall against the car windows. It’s quite beautiful, Thomas thinks, begrudgingly. Probably why they choose this image for the postcards, and not the trash-lined streets. 

“I’ll never get tired of this,” Alex says wistfully behind him. “Sometimes I ride out to Queens just for the drive back.” Thomas glances over his shoulder at him, but Alex is still gazing at the view, and his eyes glimmer with the lights’ reflection. To be completely honest, it knocks the breath out of Thomas’ lungs a little bit, even more than the view. 

“Have you lived here long?” Thomas finds himself asking, and Alex hums. 

“As long as I care to remember." Then he visibly shakes himself, turning wide eyes on Thomas. “Oh shit! I didn’t even ask the customary question! Is this your first time to New York?” 

Thomas can’t suppress his smile. “No,” he admits, “but it’s my first time back in a long time.”

Alex’s grin broadens. “Well, then welcome back. I’d say roll down your windows to let in the sweet smell of freedom, but a), it’s raining, and b), you’d probably just smell Queens.” They both wrinkle their noses at that, which then makes them laugh. 

“Maybe later,” Thomas says. Alex nods, satisfied. 

“So, where are you from? Are you here for business or pleasure?” 

“Virginia,” Thomas answers. “And business, for sure.” _Though it’s quickly becoming a pleasure._

When Thomas doesn’t offer what kind of business, Alex, thankfully, doesn’t ask him for more details. He’s certainly the chattiest New Yorker Thomas has ever met, but it seems he still respects the New York philosophy of _mind your beeswax._ “Southern boy,” he observes. “No wonder you don’t like the city. I’m afraid we got rid of all our sweet tea when we tossed out the regular tea.” It’s a tease, but instead of making Thomas bristle, he actually huffs a laugh. 

“You couldn’t pay me to drink New York sweet tea anyways,” he retorts, “I’m sure that shit was decanted straight out of the Hudson.” Alex barks a laugh, and Thomas preens. The pale evening sky is darkening fast outside the windows, but the passing streetlights cast the other man’s face in a golden glow. 

“Well, the city has changed quite a bit since Independence Day. If you ever need someone to show you around, or where to find a decent drink, I’d be happy to help,” Alex says. Then he winces again. “Again, I swear I’m not trying to come onto you.”

Thomas grins. “It’s okay— I might,” he swallows around his own awkwardness, his own instinct to jump out the door into the river in case he’s reading this wrong, in case Alex really isn’t trying to flirt, “I might just take you up on that.” 

Alex’s eyes widen, but it’s in delight, not disgust. They smile at each other for a moment more, Thomas privately pleased to see a light pink blush dusting Alex’s cheeks.

Just then, Thomas’ forgotten phone buzzes in his lap, and he jumps at the bright light that fills the space. He fumbles to turn down his screen brightness, then squints down at the incoming message. Fuck, his contacts are dry. 

It’s from James. _take your time, dinner w/Wash might be rescheduled. treasurysec MIA._

Ah yes, the dreaded Treasury Secretary. Somebody-Hamilton, Thomas thinks James said the man’s name was. Thomas isn’t looking forward to meeting him; he already sounds like a pest, and now he’s missing on the day he’s supposed to meet Thomas, the new Secretary of State? 

“Do you have the time?” Alex asks, suddenly, and Thomas remembers that he’s there. He blinks for a moment, before recalling Alex’s phone is dead.

“You don’t wear a watch?” he asks, but glances up at his phone’s clock. “Five till five,” he reads. 

Alex curses, letting his head slump back against the headrest and closing his eyes. There’s no way he’s gonna get downtown in five minutes, Thomas knows, even though traffic isn’t terrible, and they’re closing in on the Upper East Side. Which also means the Plaza isn’t too far away, Thomas thinks with a stab of regret. “Watches get in the way,” Alex answers his question, though.

Thomas taps out a quick reply to James, before locking his phone and turning it face-down. “Get in the way of what?” 

“Writing,” Alex hums. Thomas raises an eyebrow, even though Alex can’t see it.

“Then wear it on the other wrist.”

“Can’t,” Alex shakes his head. He opens one eye to peer at Thomas, and a smug smile twitches at his mouth, and does a little jazz-hands move. “Ambidextrous.” 

It’s so unexpected that it startles a laugh out of Thomas, and Alex joins in. Thomas is suddenly absurdly happy this man stole his taxi. Even if this Secretary of State business turns out to be the worst mistake of Thomas’ life, even if he misses Monticello something awful, even if the Treasury Secretary becomes his arch nemesis— at least New York hasn’t been a complete bust. 

Maybe he can make its good streak last a little longer. The rain is letting up outside, turning to a drizzle, and Thomas can see the dwindling street numbers on the street signs, the mint green roof of the Plaza looming over the last trees of Central Park. It’s now or never. 

“About that drink,” he says, looking back to see Alex’s eyes crinkle. “What are you doing, later tonight? I have a dinner, but after that, maybe we—” 

Alex is already hurrying to answer. “I’d love to, that’d be perfect, I have a dinner thing too,” he says. “Lemme see your phone, I’ll give you my number.” 

Thomas doesn’t hesitate as he hands his phone over; there’s no flicker of suspicion this time, of whether this man really is just a very charming spy. Alex adds his contact and shoots his own number a text from Thomas’ phone, but of course his still-dead phone doesn’t light up when it goes through. He hands the device back, and Thomas casts a glance at the new name on his phone.

“‘Cute Taxi Alex’?” Thomas reads with a laugh. “That your professional title?” 

“Among others,” Alex winks again. And then the cab is pulling up to the curb outside the Plaza, and the driver steps out to unload Thomas’ bags. He leaves the meter running, but Thomas reaches for his wallet anyway.

“Ah ah, don’t you dare, I said I’d pay, remember?” Alex says, setting a hand on Thomas’ forearm to stop him, and Thomas can feel the heat of his palm even through the fabric. It spreads through his whole arm, and creeps into his chest, and Thomas’ collar feels tight, suddenly. Alex’s cheeks are pink again, meaning he must feel it too. “You could— you can pay for the first round tonight, though.”

First round, meaning more than one. Thomas nods, a little too quick, judging by the bounce of his hair. 

“It’s a deal,” he says, and then Alex is letting him go. 

“It was very nice to meet you, Thomas,” he says softly. 

“It was very nice to meet you, too,” he replies, barely a whisper, not wanting to disrupt the sacred quiet that’s fallen between them. He’s never wanted to kiss anyone more than he wants to kiss Alex right now, he realizes, and the thought kind of punches the air out of him. “Until tonight?” he asks, just to be sure.

“Tonight,” Alex confirms, and then the taxi driver taps on the window, and Thomas opens the door and steps out. 

Despite the drizzle, he holds eye contact with Alex through the window until the cab’s sped away. 

In his hotel room, despite still feeling warm inside from his fingers to his toes, Thomas takes a hot shower to chase the rain chill from his skin. He blow-dries and styles his hair for ideal fluffiness and pulls on his favorite purple suit, the one he wears because he knows it makes him look hella good and because it always serves to intimidate people, how confident he is in flashy colors. 

Throughout his routine, he keeps glancing at his phone. There’s no new text from Alex, so he probably hasn’t had a chance to charge his phone, or maybe he’s changed his mind and he’s trying to figure out how to politely turn Thomas down, or maybe the taxi got in a horrible accident and Alex is currently scattered in a hundred pieces across 5th Avenue and Thomas will never know. He shakes the thought away, because he knows it’s ridiculous, and pulls on his lucky pink socks before heading down to the lobby. Alex will text him when he can. Besides, he said he had that meeting with his boss, and then his dinner. 

James texts him the address for the restaurant, though, much to the chagrin of the trip of Thomas’ heartbeat, and the Plaza doorman hails him another cab. It’s not raining anymore, and the city streets are aglow with the mirror-glass puddles glazing the asphalt. Thomas can’t resist breathing in a little deeply. The smell of freedom, right? 

The restaurant is a quaint little sophisticated place far downtown, and James meets him at coat check. They hug tightly— damn, Thomas missed his friend. 

“They find Hamilwhatever?” Thomas asks, once they part and James has asked him the customary questions about how his flights and hotel and drive into the city were. Thomas left out the bit about meeting Alex, for reasons he’s not looking at too closely right now. He knows James wouldn’t judge him, not really, but he certainly wouldn’t approve of him arranging to meet up with a virtual stranger tonight.

James sighs, but nods. “Sadly, yes. He and Washington are wrapping up a meeting, but they’ll be here soon. Washington requested you pick the wine— he still admired your tastes from last time.”

Thomas puffs out his chest a little. “As he well should. I’d be honored.” The hostess leads them to a booth in the back, well-shielded from the prying eyes of the public. Thomas can already identify a few Secret Service agents surreptitiously scoping out the place, preparing for the arrival of the Commander in Chief. 

Thomas orders a French wine he thinks Washington will like, that will also serve as a bit of a balm for the homesickness that’s threatening to kick in. When the drinks arrive, Thomas greedily takes a large sip. He wonders if Alex will like wine, or if he’s more of a whiskey guy. Maybe Thomas can show him the wonders of French alcohol. “Fill me in— anything I should know before meeting this guy?” 

“Hamilton’s a brat, but he is Washington’s favorite, so do try not to bite his head off too fast,” James warns. Thomas huffs. 

“Just a light gnawing, then?” 

Just then, his phone buzzes against his thigh, and Thomas nearly upends his wine scrambling for it. He avoids James’ raised eyebrow, but can’t quite fight his smile when he sees a new text from ‘Cute Taxi Alex.’ 

_phone is ALIVE !! !_ it reads. _assuming u r 2? if yes, still on 4 drinks? if no,, still on 4 drinks??_

His smile morphs into a grin. Of course Alex would text like a twelve-year-old, if it means he can text as fast as he talks. 

_still alive_ , Thomas types out. _and still on for drinks. how do you feel on wine v whiskey?_

The reply comes in lightning-fast. _anything but sam adams n im happy_

_what do you have against sam adams?_

_long stry,_ comes Alex’s answer. _a V dark night, i’ll tell u about it if u prmise u dont have a weak stomach_

_looking forward to it_

He looks up to James’ all-too-perceptive eyebrow, but before he can justify himself, there’s a bit of a commotion at the entrance of the building that signals the President’s arrival before they even see the man. And he’s not hard to miss: George Washington absolutely towers over everyone, not just in build but in sheer _presence_. Everyone looks up to Washington, and yet he never makes you feel small when he smiles back at you. No wonder they made him President. 

The man himself is striding towards them, a big smile on his face, and Thomas shoves his phone back in his pocket as he and James rise to meet him. 

“President Washington, sir, it’s great to see you again,” Thomas greets. Washington ignores his offered handshake in favor of tugging Thomas into a firm embrace.

“Thomas! It’s good to see you too,” Washington beams as he pulls back. He nods hello again to James, whom he saw only a few hours ago. “I hope New York has been welcoming you back properly?” 

Thomas thinks of Alex, of course. “It has, sir, thank you.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Washington says. “Now, allow me to introduce you to our Treasury Secretary. I’m sure you’ll do wonderful things together,” he says, although it sounds vaguely like a warning, though Thomas is mostly sure it isn’t directed at him. Washington steps aside, allowing Thomas to finally get a look at the man he’s heard so much about, and— “Thomas Jefferson, Alexander Hamilton.” 

Thomas’ heart _stops._

The Treasury Secretary— _Alex,_ Thomas’ fritzing brain screams, _Alexander Hamilton—_ is smiling down at his phone when Washington gestures to him, but he hurriedly tucks it away in his back pocket and schools his expression into something probably intended to be serious and intimidating before glancing from Washington to the new Secretary of State. But when his eyes meet Thomas’, he freezes, too, and his mouth drops agape, incredulous. 

The first thing that Thomas registers is that Alex is a lot smaller standing up than he’d seemed sitting in the car. The second is that, now that the man is not dripping rain, he’s still _absurdly_ attractive. 

The silence lasts an eons-long second, but even James and Washington pick up on the shock passing between the two men. “Son?” Washington asks Hamilton, as James nudges Thomas’ side. “Are you alright?”

Alex is the first to reanimate. “Oh, just fine, sir,” Alex answers, syrup-slow, as a feline grin spreads across his face. “More than, actually.” He sticks out a hand, and Thomas takes it automatically, and that heat floods through him once more. “It’s a pleasure to properly meet you, Secretary Jefferson,” Alex says. 

“Likewise, Secretary Hamilton,” Thomas replies, and Alex squeezes his hand, just slightly, and Thomas squeezes back.

Then they all sit down to dinner. 

To Thomas’ quiet relief, Alex doesn’t outright flirt with him during the meal, equally conscious of their new audience. After that initial interaction, he’s all business, and while he and Thomas don’t see eye to eye on everything they discuss, Thomas can already tell they’re going to be a hell of a team. Not without a few quarrels, surely, and probably volcanic ones at that, but people are certainly never going to underestimate Washington’s Cabinet. Thomas has a feeling he can— and will— learn a lot from Alexander Hamilton, and he’s just as willing to return the favor.

Being smart men, of course Washington and James catch on fast that Alex and Thomas know each other, and while James spends the dinner looking increasingly bewildered at how well it’s going, Washington sits back in the booth with a knowing gleam in his eye that makes Thomas’ skin itch. 

The food is wonderful, and the wine flows as easily as the conversation, and hours pass in a blink of an eye; sooner than Thomas expects, Washington sets his napkin on the table and signals the evening has come to an end. Alex snaps to attention, immediately pulling out his phone to type down a few notes Washington gives him, probably a habit between General and right-hand man that’s been difficult for either of them to shake. Then they all head out to the sidewalk.

James says his goodbyes and hails a cab, glancing back expecting Thomas to follow, but only shaking his head in exasperation when he doesn’t. Alex, meanwhile, probably usually hitches a ride with Washington, only now he stands still beside Thomas on the pavement; Washington doesn’t seem surprised, though he does turn to Thomas.

He shakes Thomas’ hand again. “I really am glad to have you on my team. I have a feeling we’ll do great things. As for Alexander,” Washington tells him, “Well. Don’t have him out too late.” It’s said only half-jokingly, and Thomas has the sudden terrifying feeling that one day he’s going to be called into the President’s office for a _shovel talk._

Alex groans and buries his face in his hands in mortification, but Washington only grins and ruffles Alex’s hair before bidding them goodnight. The Secret Service escorts him to his car, and Alex and Thomas stand on the curb and watch the SUV drive off. 

And then it’s just them again.

“Well,” Thomas says, “that was a surprise.” 

Alex, however, only tugs at the hem of his jacket. “You weren’t, ah— disappointed, were you?” 

The question is so unexpected that Thomas can’t derail the laugh that bubbles out of him. “Disappointed? This was the best thing that happened all day, next to some crazy guy getting in my taxi.”

Alex’s face shatters into that sunshine-bright smile that makes Thomas’ heart do flippy things, and he can’t even blame the wine.

“You gotta be careful about that, there are some real psychos out there,” he quips, with a wag of his eyebrows. “You still up for that drink? As delicious as that wine was, the night is young, and we’ve got all of New York City ahead of us. Ours for the taking,” Alex says. His eyes are daring and endless. In reply, Thomas takes Alex’s hand again, only this time he twists it until he can twine his fingers through Alex’s calloused ones, basking in the heat that radiates from their matching grips. 

“Lead the way.”

Yeah, maybe New York won’t be so bad.

**Author's Note:**

> both of my jamilton fics now have basically ended the exact same way lmao but honestly they’re writing themselves at this point
> 
> was very tempted to make the title a lyric from Welcome To New York but instead chose this quote by fscottfitzy: "The city seen from the Queensboro Bridge is always the city seen for the first time, in its first wild promise of all the mystery and beauty in the world." 
> 
> i lived in manhattan for four years and only ever flew in/out of LGA so writing this gave me war flashbacks lol, but fun fact the route takes them right by Thomas Jefferson Park, for the irony of it all. also this is totally not how you catch a taxi at LGA but ~suspend ur disbelief~ 
> 
> i don’t own anything hamilton, disclaimers disclaimers, etc etc
> 
> comments and kudos always much loved!!!


End file.
